Epilogue Delivery
by sa-mu-uu
Summary: Was there value in life? As the stranger in his doorway stared back at him with bloodshot eyes, Sanji was as unsure as he'd ever been. "I'm… Zoro," he started, voice low but completely devoid of any perceptible inflection. "I've been assigned to accompany you for the last thirty days of your life." [Modern AU, ZoSan]
1. Prologue

Prologue

* * *

><p>Sanji was starting to get used to his apartment being filthy, and he fucking hated it. For god's sake, when was the last time he'd bothered to do laundry? He couldn't even remember. He used to keep things so clean, but now he couldn't even manage to walk across the living room without tripping over a half-finished book or a dress shoe that hadn't quite made it to the closet. There was a layer of dust a mile thick on top of his coffee table; if it were anyone else's home but his own, he would assume the owner had died ages ago. Then again, maybe he had.<p>

His kitchen, heartbreakingly, was in no better shape than the rest of his dwelling. The counters were covered in papers and unopened mail rather than pots and pans; hell, someone could steal his dining room table and he'd probably go weeks without noticing its absence.

With mild reluctance, he tugged open the refrigerator door; and for what must have been the millionth time that month, he was met with nothing but a few meager containers of leftovers. Enough to live off of for a few days, but nothing extravagant; nothing worth his time. He shouldn't have expected any different.

It didn't help that walking to the nearest grocery store would entail a half hour long trek through the torrential downpour outside. With a twisted frown, his eyes flickered to the kitchen window; there was no sign of the rain letting up in any reasonable amount of time, either. Figures.

But really, he should have been thankful; plenty of people had to put up with far longer trips to get food those days. How many grocery stores did their locality even have, anymore? He could only think of two off the top of his head. And one of the two was hardly ever in possession of proper produce, so it hardly counted.

Even as a chef, though, the grocery stores were the least of his worries. Overpopulation and budget cuts across the board left the world with little comfort, in general. Funds were too low to sustain most of the institutions people had grown used to; the downsizing of prisons, hospitals, schools, and such were unavoidable. But the world had found a way to function with less of those, as it turned out; and the shift hadn't been as difficult as one would have expected. The walks were longer, sure, but most people could use the exercise anyway. That was the running joke amongst the locals, at least.

Compared to when Sanji was still only a child, life had changed quite a bit. For one thing, people relied a hell of a lot more on one another than they used to. Hospital trips were reserved almost entirely for those that were truly ill; some wouldn't even make an emergency room visit after suffering a damn bullet wound, opting rather to get a friend to fix their wounds instead. In that same vein, people relied on each other for more mundane issues as well. It wasn't too long ago that Sanji had been feeding at least ten families in his apartment complex out of his own home kitchen, for instance. Why? Because he could, he supposed. That was just how things were. Sometimes the others would give him gifts in return for his services; that was where the books that had overtaken his living room had come from. How many of them had he actually read, anyway…? He could only remember what a handful of them were even about.

Criminality was handled a tad differently, too... well, perhaps that was a bit of an understatement. Gone were the days of keeping criminals behind bars; most of them, at least. The only offenders that were kept imprisoned those days were the _really_ dangerous ones. Instead of keeping them for months or even years in jail like they had when prison space was more abundant, there was another strategy to dealing with lawbreakers.

Which was, quite simply, to execute a random citizen for their transgression.

Those who went against the law were encumbered with documenting the passing of the people they'd essentially sentenced to death for their shitty decision-making. According to the legislators that had instituted the fucked up system in the first place, there was a method to the madness; the goal was to teach immoral citizens the true value of life. This was achieved, apparently, by forcing them to face the person that was suffering for their wrongdoings. So, for a month, they wrote about the person who was going to die for them. They'd write about their life, their faults, their dreams, their jobs, whatever struck them as important. If they refused, they and their martyr would die on the spot. Not that that ever happened, as far as Sanji knew. Who the hell would choose death over writing a damn paper, after all?

That said, there were almost never any repeat offenders; the few that didn't learn the first time around were never given a second chance to repent. Rather than sacrificing another innocent civilian in hopes of moral rehabilitation, they were promptly killed for their second misdemeanor. No month to reflect on their life, no documentor to do them justice. Just… death. It was no wonder habitual outlaws were practically nonexistent.

There was a lot of room for death, but that was the point, wasn't it? It horrified the public to the point where people practically forced each other to behave perfectly. And it certainly helped a bit with the overpopulation issue, morbid as that was. Funny how people never liked to talk about that part, though.

As far as Sanji was concerned, the whole system was batshit insane. But hell if it didn't work; crime had declined steadily every year since the law was instated. Just as they'd hoped, people were far more afraid of misconduct than they ever had been before; after all, your martyr could be anyone. It could be your lover, or your own damn child, for fuck's sake. Statistically it was far more likely to be a stranger, but very few were bold enough to take the chance.

And if you were pegged as a lawbreaker, you might as well give up on being treated equally by society ever again; the government strapped a band around your arm, and suddenly you were the fucking monster who took someone's child away. Even if all you did was steal a bag of candy, you were below human for the rest of your life as far as everyone else was concerned.

It may have been a functioning system, but it was a miserable one. Finding joy in cooking was all Sanji could do to keep from drowning in the fear that had overtaken so many others. And there was no shortage of mouths to feed either, evidently. So that was a plus.

But even so, could he consider himself to be happy? If the clutter and disarray around him was any indication, then… well, no, probably not.

But that was a problem for another day, he figured. For now, his only goal was to buy some damn food. That would be a good start, wouldn't it? Finding happiness could wait a day or two.

Making his way back across the living room, he sighed inwardly at the mess that overtook his couch. His coat was in that pile somewhere… at least, he _thought_ it was. Brushing a stack of fallen papers aside, he cracked a half-smile when his fingers grazed over familiar fabric. Promptly throwing the jacket over his shoulders, he took a brief moment to appreciate the warmth it offered. It would be short-lived, however, undoubtedly to be lost to the wind and rain outside.

Reaching for the doorknob, he stopped in his tracks when he heard two soft knocks from the other side. Strange, he wasn't expecting anyone. His mind reeled, trying to compile a list of who could possibly be bothering to visit him in the middle of such a shitty rainstorm, but he came up empty. All of his friends made a habit to call before coming over, if only to make sure he was actually there first. So then, who the hell was on the other side of his door?

Another two knocks, louder this time, shook him out of his musing. He yanked the door open by sheer reflex, and a short breath caught in his throat as his eyes hung on the drenched man before him.

He was umbrella-less, soaked to the bone, and sporting a cryptic expression that Sanji couldn't read for the life of him. He looked small somehow, though not in size; he was Sanji's height if not slightly taller, but his presence was infinitesimal. Maybe it was in the way his shoulders were hunched; from the weight of the rain or something else, he couldn't quite be sure. Not unlike a stray puppy, he couldn't help but think.

Was there value in life? As the stranger in his doorway stared back at him with bloodshot eyes, Sanji was as unsure as he'd ever been.

The man said nothing; silence hung between them for eons. But the black armband the man wore, a government-sanctioned symbol used to warn the public of such "monsters", said more than the man himself could have.

"Can I help you?" Sanji asked, if only as a last ditch attempt to pretend nothing was wrong.

"I'm… Zoro," he started, voice low but completely devoid of any perceptible inflection. "I've been assigned to accompany you for the last thirty days of your life."

"Ah, really...? Come on in, then. Watch your step."

* * *

><p>AN: I only have an outline of where this is going, so let's take the journey together, I guess. o wo;;


	2. Day One

_-Day 1-_

* * *

><p>"Why don't you take a seat?"<p>

Zoro's eyes scanned the room as he stepped in; take a seat? Where was he supposed to do that, exactly? Every single viable surface was covered in massive piles of unorganized stuff.

Upon further inspection, though, he managed to scope out a small area on the floor in front of the couch that hadn't yet been burdened with a mountain of books or clothing. He shuffled over to the spot and sat down, shrugging his backpack off of his shoulders before reluctantly turning his attention back to the blond stranger.

Sanji. That's what the paper folded up in his pocket said, anyway. It was a strange name; one he had never heard used once in his life before that day. He doubted he would ever hear it again after the coming month was over.

"Can I get you something to drink? Coffee or tea, perhaps?" The man asked in a surprisingly light tone, glancing over his shoulder as he sauntered toward the kitchen. His movements were graceful; he carried himself well, but Zoro couldn't help but notice the tightness in his shoulders as he went. Was he... tense? Well, yeah, that made sense. Of course he would be fucking tense, staring his own death right in the face. It was a natural reaction.

"...No, I'm alright." In reality, he was incredibly thirsty; but the combination of being drenched from head to toe and feeling more unsettled than he'd ever been in his entire life really put a damper on his desire to drink anything.

"You're dehydrated. Have some water, at least," In a heartbeat, the other man returned with a glass of clear liquid and set it on the coffee table with a knowing nod. Rather than picking another spot on the floor, he wandered over to the wall opposite Zoro and stood with his back against it. His arms folded casually over his chest, giving him an air of easiness, but it didn't take much scrutiny to see that his tenseness still lingered. His only visible eye studied Zoro closely, taking in his expression with a gaze that looked almost unimpressed. Or, perhaps it was just detached. Exhausted, even; like he hadn't seen a good night's rest in ages. "So, are you going to do it, then?" A short pause. "The paper, I mean."

The paper… he must have been referring to the documentation assignment. It made sense that he would want to know; after all, if Zoro decided not to do it, they'd both be dead within a few days at most. He hadn't thought much about it, but he figured he didn't really have a choice in the matter. As much as the thought of complying with their government's wishes irked him beyond belief, it was unavoidable. "I guess so."

The blond let out a relieved sigh, head rolling to the side with the long exhale. Was he grinning a bit? No, the low light was definitely just playing tricks on his perception. Having a few extra weeks rather than being killed on the spot was hardly reason enough for him to smile, after all. "Alright, that's good to know."

There was an awkward silence, and Zoro took the pause in their exchange to grab the glass of water from the table. The glass itself was spotless, untarnished by dirt or scratches or anything of the sort. It was almost out of place, compared to everything else he was surrounded by. Why the glass was in perfect condition while everything else was borderline destroyed, he had no idea. Maybe they were new or something.

"...Do you want me to stand outside for a bit? Give you a moment to… I don't know, do whatever?" Zoro asked; he figured he could at least try to be somewhat courteous. But, more than that, he wasn't sure he could handle the heavy atmosphere in that room much longer.

Sanji scoffed in response, a bit more forcefully than he'd probably intended, and shook his head. "What? No. I'm not a delicate lady, I'm n-not going to break down or anything," he started, pausing to clear his throat with a grimace at his own poorly timed stuttering. "...You said your name is Zoro, right? What exactly did you do? You don't look much like the type to waste your one crime on something petty... But you're here and not in jail, so it couldn't have been anything all that bad, either, right?"

Zoro's nose scrunched a bit in distaste. _That_ was what he wanted to know? Unbelievable. He wasn't asking the right questions at all; he was supposed to be asking things like, "what gives you the right?!" or "who do you think you are?!" or something, not prodding for gossip. Why wasn't he acting shocked? Why wasn't he screaming, kicking him out onto the street, or anything like that? Zoro had been prepared to deal with tears and hatred, but there was nothing of the sort. It just didn't make any sense; Sanji was going to die, for fuck's sake, but Zoro had witnessed people more upset over a damn paper cut than he was acting over his own mortality. "How are you so okay with this?"

"Well... the law is the law, right? Nothing I can do about it," he let out a sigh through his nose, briefly turning his attention back to the mess surrounding them on all sides. "Wish I'd had some warning though, this place isn't exactly equipped for company. I guess today's cleaning day, huh?"

The papers hadn't mentioned that the guy was fucking crazy, yet there he was, clearly not in his right mind in the slightest. And Zoro was stuck with him for a month. Great.

But, crazy or not, he sort of owed this man his good will, didn't he? Sanji was going to lose his life because of Zoro's mistake. He'd fucked up big time, and now…

Zoro swallowed. Shit. It hit him again, like a ton of bricks, that he was looking at a dead man. He was talking to a walking corpse, more or less. And it was all his fault. This was never the plan; he hadn't signed up for this.

_It should be you,_ his mind taunted. _Not him._

"Alright, listen," the blond started again, snapping him out of his thoughts. Again, he was smiling; this time, Zoro could tell for sure. But it was a sort of distant smile, not bright, like he was looking at something that wasn't actually there. "If you're going to stay here, which seems to be the case if we're going to do this thing properly, I need to make some space for you. Why don't you take a shower and change into some dry clothes while I clean up?"

Rather than arguing, Zoro just nodded. He was starting to get chills from being wet for so long; frankly, the prospect of warming up was more than a little bit tempting.

Following Sanji down a narrow hallway, which was unsettlingly barren in comparison to the rest of the place, they came upon an open doorway leading to a lightless room with cheap-looking ceramic flooring.

"There should be plenty of towels and stuff in there; do you have any clothes besides these..?"

"Erm, no…" He hadn't packed particularly heavily, which he was quickly coming to regret. And since it was against the law to leave his martyr's side, he probably wouldn't be able to fix that any time soon… Maybe Sanji would agree to stop by his place at some point to pick up some things. He seemed agreeable enough, so it probably wasn't too farfetched of a hope.

"I'll see if I can find some, then. Can't guarantee they'll fit, though."

Zoro nodded, flicking the light switch on as he stepped inside. "Okay. Thanks."

Sanji gave him one last cryptic glance before making his way back the way they'd came, most likely to clean up that horrifying mess he'd accumulated. Zoro silently wished him good luck; from what he'd seen, the man would probably need it.

Taking a glance at the bathroom mirror had been a mistake; the realization that he looked so goddamn awful just made him feel even worse. The bags under his eyes were dark, only accentuated even more by the grime that had clung to his face over the past few days. Those cuts marring his skin all over from the fight he'd put up with the police… shit, they weren't healing well at all. And his hair, matted down with an awfully itchy mixture of grease and rainwater, felt like it'd been dipped in a pool of sludge or something equally as nasty. A clean shave certainly wouldn't hurt his looks at that point, either.

He couldn't hold back the groan of softened pleasure when the shower's wet heat hit his skin; the cold washed away in waves until his bones finally no longer felt like icicles.

It was the first time he'd been alone in… damn, how long had it actually been? Weeks? Excluding the short time between leaving confinement and showing up at the other man's apartment, he hadn't been alone at all since the day before he'd been caught and detained.

It felt like that night had been eons ago. An incident from another era.

For what must have been the millionth time that day, his mind drifted back to his friends. They were okay, weren't they? No, of course they fucking weren't. They were either dead, in prison, or in the same exact situation he was in. None of those options were what anyone in their right mind would consider "okay".

Just thinking about it made him feel even sicker than he'd already felt; he tried to swallow the feeling, but his stomach wrenched in objection, and he couldn't hold it back anymore. Throwing his arms out against the wall of the shower to brace himself, he retched violently, emptying his stomach of contents it didn't have. At least there was drain right below him, if nothing else.

With a sigh, he tilted his head up to let the running water wash the bile from his lips. _There, feeling better already… not._

But no matter how worried he was, there was no way to know where his friends were or what they were up to. His phone had been confiscated, and he couldn't for the life of him remember any of the numbers that had been registered in it. Not that it would have helped much if he did; he'd bet money that those government dogs had taken everyone else's phones, too.

And the person he'd ended up with… that was another mystery altogether. Who the hell was he? Zoro couldn't shake the feeling that something was incredibly off about him. The way he seemed to sigh with every word, the way he smiled nigh constantly but never so much that it showed in his eye… it was just plain unsettling.

His imagination couldn't help but kick into overdrive at the thought of that false-looking smile. That piercing blue gaze fogging over with hazy indifference as his long, pale fingers curl into Zoro's throat...

His breath caught in his chest, and he promptly shook the images from his mind.

No, that didn't seem right. The way Sanji held himself, the calloused but airy tone to his voice... Even his contextually strange grinning hadn't seemed like that of a deranged killer or whatever. No, the likelihood of Sanji being a threat to him, realistically, was abysmal.

And, really, what sort of psychotic murderer used vanilla scented shampoo? Ridiculous.

With a hint of reluctance, he shut off the water and snatched the towel he'd left on the counter.

He looked a bit better, but not by much. His hair was no longer greasy, and his skin was clear of dirt and grime. But days of incessant interrogation and "rehabilitation" had left him with little in terms of sleep; that sort of thing couldn't be fixed by a shower alone. He was cleaner and more comfortable, though; there was no denying that.

Throwing on the clothes that had been laid out by the door, he frowned down at himself. The pants had to hang precariously low on his waist to make it all the way down to his ankles, and the long sleeved shirt he'd been supplied with was just short enough to make the issue very apparent. It was more midriff than he was used to showing, but the clothes were still a hell of a lot better than his own drenched rags, so he'd tolerate it.

He found the blond seated at the dining room table, which had been cleaned off at some point in the past fifteen minutes or so, with a lit cigarette hanging from his parted lips. There was a firm knit in his brow… the spiral on the end of it twitched slightly as he stared down at the phone in front of him.

Only the sound of rain against the windows filled the heavy silence.

A spiral. How had he not noticed that before? Had he really been so twisted up in his own nerves that he couldn't even notice something so bizarre-looking? In any other situation, he probably would have laughed.

The guy before him looked like absolute shit in that stark white lighting; still as irritatingly composed as ever, but more distressed. As he should have been. A part of Zoro wanted to comfort him, somehow... but he was hardly in the position to do anything of the sort.

"H-huh? Oh, Zoro…" Rubbing at his eyes with back of his hands, he gave his head a quick shake and turned to meet Zoro's gaze with a crooked smirk. "Wow. Those don't really suit you at all, do they?"

"They're kinda small…" he admitted with a shrug. He felt a bit uncomfortable complaining, but the problem was obvious enough just by looking at him.

"Well, your clothes are in the dryer, so you can have them back soon."

"Alright," he nodded, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he contemplated whether or not to move from his spot in the hallway.

As if on cue, Sanji nodded to the chair on the other side of the table. "Don't just stand there. Are you hungry? I was just on my way to the grocery store when you showed up, so I don't have much right now…" he frowned. "But I can throw something together, I guess."

"That's okay, I'm fine." He shook his head, shuffling over to take a seat at the table. He was hungry, sure, but he felt like he was starting to impose more than he really should have been.

With a quiet sigh, the man raised from his chair and made his way over to the cupboards. "Rice it is, then."

First the water, then this? Sanji clearly didn't know how to take no for an answer, and that was definitely going to start grating on Zoro's nerves quickly. He never really took kindly to people disregarding his words, after all.

But, just this once, he allowed it.

xxx

After dinner, which even Zoro had to admit had been impeccable despite Sanji's lamenting about ingredients, they made their way back to the living room that had been magically transformed into a halfway passable living arrangement.

"It's on the makeshift side, but this is all I have to offer for now," Sanji started, dropping a heap of blankets onto the couch with a huff. "It's not the best, but probably beats whatever prison would give you… so at least there's that, right?"

Zoro didn't respond to the dark attempt at humor, opting to wordlessly settle into the cushions with his backpack in hand. Despite how it had looked earlier, the couch was surprisingly very comfortable. Had Sanji not been right next to him, he might have actually fallen asleep the moment he sat down.

He let out a yawn, idly fluffing one of the pillows before stealing a glance up at the other man; their tired eyes met and something rooted deep in his chest stirred uncomfortably. There were no words, but _something_, although Zoro couldn't for the life of him pinpoint what exactly, was silently exchanged between them in that moment. Sanji's expression twisted into a frown, then to one of his signature wry smiles and he shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Alright, then, I'll leave you to it..." he muttered, turning to leave.

No, shit, he couldn't leave yet. There was something Zoro still needed to say. "Uh, listen, I-..." But the words caught in his throat, snagged in a web of regret and anxiety before they had the chance to come out.

"Hm?" Sanji peered back over his shoulder with a questioning look, so exhausted then that he didn't seem to have the energy to feign any sort of emotion but lazy puzzlement.

"Er," Damn it, he'd already taken long enough to say it as it was. He sucked in a breath, held it in, then spoke on the exhale. "I'm sorry."

It wasn't like he was expecting Sanji to forgive him or anything; he just… needed to say it. There was a long pause, while the other man mulled his words over. He looked almost conflicted for a moment, before finally speaking again. "Why? It's not like you specifically picked me, did you?"

He shook his head. Well, no, he hadn't. It didn't work like that, and they both knew it. But, still.

"Exactly, and I don't have-..." Sanji paused, running a hand through his silky hair before letting out a frustrated sigh. "Never mind. We can talk in the morning. Just get some sleep, you look like you need it."

Zoro snorted at this, giving him a testy scowl. "You look like you need it more, if we're being honest here."

Rolling his eyes in the first display of genuine sass Zoro had ever seen out of him, the man gave him a resigned nod in agreement.

After an awkward goodnight, Zoro was left alone with his form and pen in hand. The header, in plain, unstylized text, read "Day 1". The blank lines below it provoked him; _go ahead, spill out your guts. None of this matters anyway_.

Fuck it, he wasn't going to do this.

But he was hellbent on living, damn it, so yes, he was.

Muttering some mindless explicatives to himself under his breath, he gave one last glance to the empty hallway before beginning.

"_The martyr is nice; almost too nice." _He started, not giving half a shit that his handwriting was barely legible_. "It's as if he doesn't value his life in the slightest. He's ready to roll over and die just because someone said he should. That guy is a fool._ _He's long since given up, I think; killing him now or thirty days from now would make no difference to him. And it wouldn't make a difference to me, either."_

He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of knowing he felt even the slightest bit of remorse for Sanji, lest they use it as evidence that their bullshit system was working. It wasn't that the system was working, Zoro was just fucking human, and thusly had the innate ability to feel some semblance of goddamn sympathy. This… there's no way that _this_ could ever possibly work.


End file.
